You Have to Quit, Before You Can Achieve Your Dreams

It’s New Year’s Eve, 1998. I know that I’m going to party that night, drink alcohol, and smoke a bunch of cigarettes. In fact, my New Year’s resolution is to quit smoking for good, and I mean it this time. I’m trying to get pregnant and want to start my family, and I can’t be a smoking mother. This is my last hurrah!

I decide to take a pregnancy test before the evening starts just in case I’m already pregnant. I don’t want to harm the pregnancy with New Year’s antics. The test comes back negative, and I am good to go on my last night as a kid living for myself. Tomorrow, the first day of 1999, I will become a full-fledged responsible adult, thinking about my future and sacrificing for something greater.

I have smoked cigarettes since I was 12 years old. When I do something, I fully commit. So I smoked a pack a day, every day, for 13 years. I started trying to impress my brother and his friends by smoking my first cigarette. I knew I would probably cough, so I tried my best not to and acted like this was just my thing. It wasn’t long until I was completely hooked. I corrupted my friends in the seventh grade and got all of them smoking too. Smoking tobacco, weed, and drinking alcohol defined my teenage years.

Whenever I got busted smoking by my mom, I tried to quit. I promised her I would quit, but I caved every time and continued to smoke. I tried to quit many times on my own and wasn’t able to. The longest I went without a cigarette was about three days. The more I failed to quit, the more I believed I could never give it up.

Smoking was a way of life. A complete habit. I was physically addicted and habitually addicted. I smoked while I created art. I smoked when I drank coffee. I smoked after every meal. I smoked first thing in the morning while I waited for the bus. I snuck off campus and smoked at lunch. I smoked before basketball practice, and afterward while I waited for the bus again. Teachers and my friends’ parents saw me smoking at the bus stop and told my mother. I promised I would quit. But I didn’t, and the pattern would repeat.

When I lived in Greece, I was in smoking bliss. The cigarettes were half the price, tasted even better, and smoking was allowed at school. All of the smokers hung out together outside during breaks. Drinking coffee was an all-day event in Greece. We drank coffee in the morning with our cigarettes and all afternoon after school in the cafés. Then in the evening I moved on to beer, all of it tasting glorious with cigarettes.

I knew one day I had to quit. This couldn’t go on forever. I knew I wanted children, and there was no way I would smoke while pregnant. I felt lucky as a woman that pregnancy would be the thing that finally got me to quit. At the beginning of my senior year, the yearbook committee asked me what my senior quote would be. This is the quote that would go next to my picture. I didn’t quote David Bowie or Sid Vicious. I didn’t come up with something beautiful and poetic. I didn’t quote Maya Angelou, Oprah Winfrey, or Madonna. My quote read, “I’ll quit when I get pregnant.”

My mother, of course, was horrified when she read what was written next to my picture, but it was too late. In a way, that quote defined me. I was always a high achiever. I graduated high school as Valedictorian and college Magna Cum Laude. I aimed to be the best at everything I did, especially partying. But I knew one day my partying would need to end because I had big goals and dreams for my life, and I would eventually have to grow up.

On New Year’s Eve, 1998, I stayed up until three in the morning laughing, drinking, and smoking with my friends. Everyone knew this might be my last night out with them. After this, I was going to take care of myself, buckle down, and become nothing but serious.

Just before bed, I was standing in the kitchen holding my nearly empty pack of cigarettes. I had about five left. I took out one last cigarette to smoke before I went to sleep. I dragged on it deeply and inhaled, feeling my tired lungs reluctantly accept it. I so badly wanted this to be my last one. I really meant it this time. I prayed for God to deliver me from this addiction and hoped He heard my prayer. I wanted a miracle. I wanted it to be effortless. I didn’t want to suffer or face the true pain of addiction. I wanted this chapter of my life to be over.

I enthusiastically broke the last four cigarettes in my pack and ripped up the box. I soaked the shredded cigarettes in water so I wouldn’t be tempted to fish them out of the garbage and re-roll the tobacco. This was it. My new life would start when I woke up.

The next three days were not effortless, but I felt determined, so I got through them. Then by day five without cigarettes, I thought about smoking constantly. I felt edgy, antsy, and cranky. I started justifying how I could smoke until I got pregnant. Since I wasn’t pregnant yet, I could still smoke. Then once I knew I was pregnant, I would have the strength to quit. I could feel myself caving to the addiction. I wondered why God didn’t make it easy for me. It was as if nothing had changed, as though my prayer had fallen on deaf ears.

I tried all afternoon to shake it, but I just couldn’t. I decided that I would take another pregnancy test because now I was actually a couple of days late, and it was possible. If the test showed that I was not pregnant, then I would go buy a pack of cigarettes. I held the test, partly hoping it was negative so I could smoke. But then a very faint line began to appear in the box that was normally clear. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

My first reaction was relief. I was saved from myself and wouldn’t buy a pack of cigarettes. My next reaction was shock and awe. It was inevitable. I was going to be a mom. It might have been microscopic, but I had a life growing inside of me. Then came horror when I realized that I was pregnant on New Year’s Eve. What have I done? What kind of monster am I? What if my last party hurt my baby?

I felt ashamed and couldn’t understand why the pregnancy test I took didn’t show that I was pregnant. I guess it was simply too soon. I stared at the faint line, realizing this was real.

The next day I bought a book called What to Expect When You’re Expecting. I read that the fetus is very protected during the first six weeks and that my one night of cigarettes and alcohol would likely not affect the baby whatsoever. I felt relieved. From the day I found out I was pregnant, every urge or desire to smoke completely left me. It was the easiest quit I ever experienced. God heard my prayer, and once I made it through my brief test, it truly became easy to quit smoking. I have not had even a puff since the very first hours of 1999.

Before we can be pregnant with something big, we have to quit. That something belongs to our destiny and will leave a legacy. It is bigger than us. It plays deeply into the tapestry of a collective purpose. We have to carry it, often for months or years, before it is born into the infancy of a dream.

We have to quit. Give up. Throw in the towel. Allow ourselves to break. What are we quitting? A negative belief system that served us for many years and brought us comfort. We quit making excuses. We have to give up trying to do everything in our own strength. We have to quit people-pleasing and living for others rather than prioritizing our own purpose. We throw in the towel, surrender, end the constant striving, and submit our hearts to God. We say, “Your will, Your ways, Your path. I’m no longer in charge.”

I’ve experienced this so many times in my life. Before I could have my own business and direct my own future, I had to quit the safety of a job. Before I took a big risk that paid off, I had to quit playing it so safe. Before God gave me Milan Art Institute, I had to quit doing things in my own strength. Before the school went online and grew beyond my wildest dreams, I had to give up control and stop doing everything myself. Before I could find my own voice in my art, I had to give up collaborating with John. Before I could feel comfortable on camera, I had to give up my pride and self-preservation.

There are too many examples and instances where I had to quit before I could gain or achieve some piece of greatness. We never quit our destiny. We never quit our commitments that add up to our purpose. We never quit being an artist. We never quit on our dreams. But quitting is an important part of the process of actually achieving them.

When have you had to quit something before your life moved on to something better?

What about right now? Is there something that comes to mind you need to quit?

You can do it. Just let it go. Watch what happens next!